Werewolf in Seattle: A Wild About You Novel (6 page)

“Go on.” His drink forgotten, he gazed at her with new understanding. She hadn’t survived on her own all these years without being resourceful. Geraldine’s death had created a problem for her, and she’d obviously come up with a scheme to solve it. Apparently the scheme involved him.

She clutched her martini glass in both hands as she focused those green eyes on him with the intensity of twin lasers. “I have a proposition for you.”

For one wild moment he thought she might mean a sexual proposition, and his pulse leaped. But she had an air of innocence about her that didn’t jibe with that scenario. “I suspected as much.”

“Instead of selling Whittier House and Le Floret, I think you should turn it into a premiere Were vacation spot.”

He was aghast. “And have strangers running all over the island?” The minute the words were out of his mouth,
he realized how idiotic they sounded. He planned to sell to strangers, and they could allow anyone they chose to run all over it.

“See, I knew it! This place is special to you!”

“Of course it is.” He took a gulp of his martini. “But I have to put sentimentality aside, because selling is the only reasonable course of action.”

“Not necessarily.” She took a careful sip of her drink and glanced up at him. “I’ve worked in hotels all my life. Not to brag on myself, but I’ve learned every aspect of the business, and I’m good at it. I started out cleaning rooms, but then I moved up into management. I understand basic bookkeeping and I know how to turn a profit.”

“You want to make Whittier House into a hotel?” He couldn’t imagine such a thing. “But it’s filled with valuable antiques and tapestries. Strangers could ruin—”

“Were you planning to take those things back to Scotland?”

She had him there. He sighed and shook his head. “MacDowell House is already stuffed with antiques. I’d love to convince my mother and father to sell at least half of them so we could walk through rooms without bumping into things.”

“So whether these stay with the house or not, they’d be sold?”

He swallowed another mouthful of his drink. “Yes.” And the thought of selling Aunt Geraldine’s antiques tore at his heart, but turning the place into a hotel didn’t make him very happy, either.

“It would be an exclusive inn,” Luna said. “It would be for Were guests only. And even for them, booking a room would require references. I’d make sure the guests behaved themselves.”

He gazed at her and tried to imagine how a sweet creature with a voice that sounded like warm honey
could possibly control a pack of rowdy Weres. But he’d already gotten into trouble suggesting that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself, so he said nothing.

“You don’t believe I could keep the peace, right?”

He couldn’t help smiling at a mental picture of her standing in the middle of the drawing room cradling a shotgun as she demanded proper behavior from her guests. “I don’t know. Could you?”

“Absolutely. I would set the tone right from the start. Coming to Whittier House would be a privilege, not a chance to act up.”

“A privilege they’d pay for?”

“Of course, and pay handsomely, too.” Matching his smile, she lifted her glass to her lips and drank.

He loved looking at her mouth. Her pink lipstick had left a print on her glass, and he found that sexy. “I must be getting peshed on gin, because I’m starting to consider this daft concept of yours.”

Luna’s gaze softened. “Geraldine sometimes said she was peshed. Or blootered.”

He waited for a pang of longing to subside before he spoke again. “I wish I’d given myself the chance to get peshed with Geraldine.” He polished off the last of his martini. “And speaking of the old girl, we have a job to do.”

Pushing the base of her half-f martini glass into the sand, Luna stood. “I’m ready.”

“So am I.” Colin secured his glass in the sand, too, although he didn’t have to worry if it tipped over because it was empty. He’d also eaten both olives.

He thought Geraldine would have relished the idea of having her ashes scattered by a couple of slightly peshed Weres. There was a little more martini mix in the shaker, and once they’d dealt with the ashes, Colin planned to suggest they drain the shaker’s contents.

He crouched down next to the simple urns, each with
a Scottish thistle pattern embossed on one side. “Her instructions said to dump hers in with his, but I don’t know which is which.”

“His is the bronze finish and hers is the silver. She told me she’d picked them out years ago.”

“Then here goes.” He took the top off each urn and picked up the silver one. As part of a large clan, he’d taken part in many such ceremonies, and he knew some of the ash would be powdery enough to fly around if he didn’t move slowly. So he stood up to pour, leaned over and emptied the silver urn gradually into the bronze one.

“You look like you’re a pro at dealing with ashes.” Her voice was subdued.

“It’s part of a pack leader’s job to know how.” He finished pouring, set the silver urn in the sand, and replaced the top on the bronze one. When he picked it up, he discovered that the combined ashes plus the weight of the urn made for a hefty burden. He’d never dealt with two sets of ashes at once.

“So we scatter them now?”

“Not yet.” Colin braced his bare feet in the sand. “She wants them shaken, not stirred.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, lass, I’m not.” He held the urn like a giant cocktail shaker.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and her green eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter.

Looking at her, he couldn’t help grinning. “I can see this won’t be a particularly solemn occasion.”

She took her hand away from her mouth to reveal her smile. “Geraldine wouldn’t want solemn.”

“You’re right. I certainly hope I can do this without falling down, though. Celebration is one thing. Slapstick comedy is another.” He began to shake the urn. It wasn’t easy, especially considering the two martinis he’d consumed
on an empty stomach. He staggered once, bringing a gasp of alarm from Luna.

“Don’t panic.” He regained his balance. “I’ve got it.”

“You’ve probably shaken them enough. She wouldn’t want you to rupture a disc.”

“That would be unfortunate.” He paused to catch his breath. “All right, then. Time to scatter.”

“Where, exactly?”

“She didn’t get that specific. Just in the sand. Is the tide coming in or going out?”

“Let me think for a minute.” She paused. “It’s coming in.”

“Then if we go down near the waterline, the waves will eventually cover the ashes and gradually draw them out to sea. I think Geraldine would have liked that idea.”

“So do I, but as she’s not here to offer advice, we have to use our best judgment.”

“Right. Near the waterline it is, then.” Colin hoisted the urn to his shoulder as he started toward the water. He’d never thought of this as a physically taxing ceremony, but he was working up a sweat.

It was a wee crescent beach, not even half a mile from one rocky promontory to the other. Colin made for the north tip, figuring he would need the entire length in order to empty the urn. A breeze off the water meant he’d need to face the shore as he moved along or risk being covered in ashes.

When he reached the farthest end of the beach, he set the urn in the damp sand and caught his breath.

Luna came up beside him. “Are we going to scoop out handfuls?” She didn’t sound eager to do that.

“No. I’ll just walk along and pour the ashes as I go.”

“Should we say something, first?”

“Yes. Yes, we certainly should.” It was a measure of his exhausted and peshed state that he’d been about to
dump Geraldine and Henry on the sand without a single blessing. He glanced at Luna. “Will you take hold of my hand, then?”

“Of course.” She offered her hand without hesitation. Her skin was soft, but her grip was firm.

Gratitude rushed through him for her support at such a time—but gratitude wasn’t all he felt. He became aware of her in a way that wasn’t appropriate during a funeral ceremony.

He glanced toward the water as they stood in silence. He should be thinking of what he was going to say, but instead he simply absorbed the wonder of her touch. The smell of salt water and sand blended with her female scent, and the combination was more intoxicating than any drink invented. He’d never realized how inherently sexy beaches were.

Perhaps he should release her hand. He did not.

Her fingers tightened around his. “May I say something first?”

“Aye.” And maybe then he’d be in better command of himself.

She drew in a breath and spoke in a steady voice. “Geraldine, thank you for being a friend and mentor to this wandering Were. I will never forget your kindness. Rest in peace with your beloved Henry.”

“Beautiful, lass.” He glanced at her. “Well done.”

She met his gaze, and her eyes were moist. “Your turn,” she said softly.

“I’m lucky to have you with me for this, Luna.”

“Bless your heart. I feel lucky to be here. Now, say your piece. She would want some Scottish parts in there, I think.”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that.” Turning back to the shimmering water, he kept a firm grip on Luna’s hand. He wanted to do a proper job, and holding on to her helped him focus.

“Maybe a bit like this.” He cleared his throat. “Geraldine and Henry, we come to this wee beach you loved so well to honor the beauty in thy character, the harmony in thy home, and the love in thy hearts.”

“Very nice.”

He squeezed her hand. “Not done yet.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“And may thy martinis in the afterlife be shaken, and not stirred. Blessed be.” From the corner of his eye he saw her smile. “Okay, then?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly he let go of her hand. “Then it’s time I start the pouring.” He knew it would be an aerobic task, so he unzipped his sweatshirt and pulled it off, sighing in relief as cool air penetrated his sweat-dampened T-shirt.

“Too warm?”

He caught her quick glance of appraisal, even though she immediately looked away again. “I didn’t realize it would be such a physical job.” So she was aware of him in that way, too.

He’d file the information away for later. Now was not the time to be getting romantic notions. “Could you please hang on to this for me?” He held the sweatshirt toward her.

“Be happy to.” She folded the sweatshirt over her arm.

“You might want to stand back.” Facing away from the water, he picked up the urn. “Some of the ashes will probably blow toward you.”

“Then I’ll walk along ahead of you and pick up anything that might be a tripping hazard, like pieces of driftwood.”

“Brilliant.” He hadn’t thought of that. He’d be concentrating on pouring ashes, and not watching for obstacles in his path. Tripping could have unfortunate consequences for everyone, including the deceased. “Then let’s get started.” He started to tip the urn.

“Wait.”

“Wait?” He paused in midtip.

“We should sing as we go along. And I know just the song. ‘Amazing Grace. ’”

“You’re right again, lass. Geraldine loved that song, especially played on the pipes. If I’d been thinking, I would have brought along a portable player of some kind.”

“But we can sing.”

“Aye.”

Luna positioned herself about three steps in front of his planned path. “We’ll start on three. One, two, three.” She began to sing. Off-key.

Colin joined in with gusto in hopes that his voice would coax hers into some sort of compliance. But no. She sang with greater enthusiasm, to be sure, but not greater tunefulness.

Ah, well. It was the thought that counted. Pouring ashes and singing along with Luna’s tone-deaf rendition of “Amazing Grace,” he realized that Geraldine would have loved this scene. She wouldn’t have cared whether the tune was performed well. She would have been delighted that it was performed at all, and with love, at that.

Gauging how much to pour as they moved down the beach took most of his concentration, but he was aware of Luna clearing his path of debris. Miraculously, everything came out even—the length of beach, the amount of ashes, and the last words of the song.

The sun had not set, but it hung low on the horizon and had begun to turn a rich shade of gold. A pair of gulls wheeled overhead, their cries mingling with the soft lap of the waves moving steadily up the beach.

Colin emptied the urn and set it on the sand with a sigh of accomplishment. He’d done it. No,
they
had done it. The ceremony wouldn’t have been as perfectly imperfect without Luna.

She stood close beside him because they’d run out of beach. Tipping her face upward to gaze at him, she smiled with obvious pleasure and satisfaction. Her face reflected the radiance of the sun, and Colin couldn’t imagine anyone looking more beautiful than she did at this moment.

“Thank you,” he murmured. And then, because it seemed like the right thing to do, he leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.

He’d probably expected, on some level, that she’d kiss him back. She didn’t. How embarrassing was that? Yet she’d shown interest in him, or maybe he’d been mistaken, leaped to conclusions. He felt like an ass.

Pulling away, he felt heat spreading from his neck up to his cheeks. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have done that.”

She looked dazed. “Don’t apologize. I liked it.”

“You
liked
it?”

“Yes.” She reached up and touched her mouth with her fingertips. “I was hoping it might last a little longer.”

“But… you weren’t kissing me back.”

It was her turn to blush. “I suppose not, but you see, I don’t have much… That is, I’m not very… ”

He stared at her in confusion. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was completely inexperienced. Yet she’d been on her own for years, and she appeared to be in her mid-twenties. Sexuality was celebrated in the Were culture, and although choosing a mate for life might be delayed, sexual satisfaction was not.

Her blush deepened and she lowered her gaze. “Never mind. I’m sure you’re famished after all that effort. We should eat.” She turned and started back up to their driftwood bench.

“Wait a minute.” He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “What’s going on here, Luna?”